


When He Fell

by Hopetohell



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Broken Bones, Injury, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27539227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: In the end it was all for nothing. A love letter to Walker, when he fell.
Kudos: 5





	When He Fell

You’re not a good man, not by half, and yes you deserve every sting, every break, don’t you dear? You threw out your challenge and you _failed._ You pitted your cruelty and your fire against chaos incarnate and somehow, stupidly, his luck held and yours. Didn’t. 

Why didn’t you just throw the detonator out of the helicopter, dearest? You knew about the failsafe, knew that unless someone pulled the pin it’d be the end. Did you hope, in some small secret place, that you would fail? Oh dearest, how pitifully romantic of you. _Hope is not a strategy,_ you said, but did you ever believe it?

You hoped, you hoped, with the fervor of a man mad with the desire to do better, to make this world better, and now you’re here burnt and broken at the bottom of a cliff and nothing will save you. 

You fell, dearest, you fell and were hooked and held, and the only mercy of it is that you were unconscious when you hit the ground. Because it seems like every bone in your body has been shattered into dust, or else turned into spears that thrust up from your clothes into the open air. These countless breaks of yours burn cold, don’t they? No training, no injury in the line of duty prepared you for this, the grinding cold fire with every minuscule movement. 

The catch and drag of your coat on the shards of your arm is the punishment you face for reaching up, trying to feel out the wounds on your face. And, finding them, you wish you hadn’t, isn’t that right? The burns are bad enough but you are cracked open, soft in a way that you know is wrong. Soft, and you can’t feel the pressure of your fingers. It’s bad. It’s bad and there’s no coming back from this. Even if you were rescued by some miracle, and you won’t be, it’d be a lifetime of lingering in musty hallways, shackled under your hospital gown and praying for night to fall for the last time. 

Won’t have to worry about that, at least. You couldn’t change the world, couldn’t do more than kill a few civilians who’ll be forgotten by the next news cycle, but at least. At least you’re in the open air. At least when the light fades, you’ll fade with it.


End file.
